


Dragon Bitter

by solarbishop



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Developing Friendships, Drinking, Gen, Kinshra, Minor Spoilers, Zamorakian Drinking Buddies, post-Dishonour Among Thieves, post-World Wakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbishop/pseuds/solarbishop
Summary: Alcohol in hand, the World Guardian approaches and requests to drink with Daquarius, who is less than enthused by her proposal.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Dragon Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a more self-indulgent fanfic than anything, because I enjoy the thought of my World Guardian and Daquarius being drinking buddies lol

Daquarius prefers to stand, and, rather than sitting on that ostentatious throne, there is a greater sense of camaraderie among the Kinshra because of it. To walk amongst his Knights as equals sends a far more powerful message than any dogma Sir Amik may preach from that hightower, lording above all his men. However, there are times when displays of power are necessary, and generally there is no more significant visual display than the decrees and commands that come from his throne. With his chin held high, his posture upright and proud, his analytical gaze, and his mouth curled into the casual, disinterested sneer, his presence as Lord of the Kinshra withstands and exceeds the social etiquette demanding of his station. His Kinshra respect him, but his Kinshra can fear him too. Daquarius is nothing short of intimidating. 

Even upon his throne, he finds that his intimidation holds no sway over the World Guardian. 

The World Guardian nonchalantly enters his space with a couple of bottles—dragon bitter, he figures quickly—and a gleaming, sharp smile. Internally, he questions her sudden appearance until his gaze fixed upon the guards who shrink away from her presence. He narrows his eyes and scowls at them. 

"Your reputation precedes you," he mutters bitterly, his attention returning to her.

Almost playfully, she shrugs and flashes another smile at him. "What can I say? I'm popular."

"What do you want, _White Knight_?" 

“My Lord Kinshra, there is no need for name calling!” She mocks indignation, clutching the bottles of dragon bitter close to her chest. “My mere wish is to enjoy a drink with my comrade! To address your ally as a _White Knight_ is, while technically correct... silly of you. You know my loyalties, as does Sir Amik and Sir Tiffy.

“We shouldn’t argue.” Asura saunters forward in a manner not dissimilar to that of a larupia stalking prey, as the stories go. “After all, our undying fealty to our Lord Zamorak connects us together in spiritual unison... and I brought the good stuff, so why not enjoy ourselves for a moment?”

His position is precarious at best, as always when it involves the _World Guardian_ , but her casual speech makes it easy to dismiss her. “Leave,” he says, unimpressed. “Much work is to be done. While I... appreciate the gesture, I must decline your invitation.”  
  


Her amicable disposition falls into irritation. “I insist.”

“ _Leave_ ,” he sneers.

  
“Then you leave me no choice,” she sighs.

He tenses, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose that he tries to subtly subdue. “What are you prattling on about—”

“I invoke your code of honor, good Lord.” The World Guardian decrees, her voice loud enough for every guard within the vicinity to hear. “To share a drink with the Lord of the Kinshra would settle any debts after the services I have performed for you.”

“And to what ‘services’ do you refer?” He glares at her, but he isn’t quite prepared by how close she suddenly is. This invasion of his personal space is an affront and a testament to his worsening mood, but those emerald eyes pierce into his very soul. His body is absolutely still, with the exception of minute movement of his shallow breathing.

Asura leans in to whisper words meant only for Daquarius to hear: “Need I really remind you? The poison, my Lord. That poison I found. Dragon bitter is an acquired taste for most, but no one can acquire a taste for _poison_.”

Daquarius wanted to argue, but any argument that had begun within his chest died on his lips. The immediate result of finding that bottle crosses his mind—the solemn ceremony of force feeding that deadly potion to that insolent ingrate, watching the scoundrel perish within mere _seconds_ of choking—but her tone suggests a greater consequence from her actions. Indeed, Daquarius leans back against his throne and exhales in a sort of frustrated resignation, quite cross. Had he more readily believed her call to stand beside Lord Zamorak in his quest for the Stone, then he would never be indebted to her—or alive, for that matter.

“Very well,” he begrudgingly says after a short while. Daquarius rises from his throne in a manner best described as long-suffering. “You invoke my code of honor, and so I shall oblige you if it gets rid of you faster.”

The World Guardian beams happily. “Excellent. Perhaps you have a private office?”

Daquarius does not respond to her, merely grumbles beneath his breath, expecting her to follow. As the World Guardian trails behind the Lord of the Kinshra, Daquarius wonders what kind of fool she thinks him to be if she believes their meeting shall conclude in _his_ private sanctum. No, despite their alliance and their pledges and their bonds, nothing has changed in their daily lives. While her worship of Lord Zamorak is reliable and honorable, the World Guardian is an interloper in Asgarnian affairs and seems to do as she pleases. This visitation may well be another attempt at information harvesting as far as he is concerned. 

Perhaps that is why the White Knights and Temple Knights of Falador keep her around. Asura is a powerful tool, contributing to Asgarnia’s wartorn history like the rest of them and himself, but disposing of someone so influential as her is beyond mortal task. The World Guardian is like the weed in the garden of Falador that has progressed far beyond anyone’s control—or perhaps she is more like a poisonous plant, or...

Daquarius ceases the droning chatter of his mind as he escorts the World Guardian to a table in the far corner of the Kinshra mess hall. He sits at one side of the table, and the smile he gives her does not reach his eyes. “You have invoked my code of honor,” he says politely, echoing their previous conversation. “So, let’s drink. You have been clutching at those bottles of dragon bitter for far too long.”

An unreadable expression crosses her face as she sits opposite of him. She is not smiling, and she doesn’t seem happy, so Daquarius feels no small sense of satisfaction when she wordlessly passes the second bottle of alcohol to him.

Per habitual ritual, Daquarius scrutinizes the bottle prior to opening it, inspecting it for any suggestion of tampering. He almost chuckles at the heinous implications and irony of the World Guardian utilizing _poison_ to kill him, but, regardless, he finds no such evidence of premeditated murder and attempted assassination. He examines the bottle’s label and discovers that this particular brand of dragon bitter hails as far southwest as Yanille. It also has a devastating alcohol content, much unlike the typical brews with which he is familiar.

As they open their respective bottles, the Kinshra Lord notes the eyes of the knights and guards watching their commander with great interest. He supposes that this exchange between the World Guardian and himself is cause enough for spectacle. Bringing the dragon bitter to his lips, Daquarius visibly winces from the bitter taste that rides the waves of a sort of heated spice that he cannot name. The warmth of the alcohol immediately seeps into his stomach, settling into a smoldering fire. The laughter from the World Guardian’s face vexes him deeply.

“Yes,” she sighs after calming from her laughter. “Most people do not care for dragon bitter, but it is a personal favorite of mine.” 

The World Guardian drinks from her bottle to demonstrate her tolerance, and that was the precise moment where Daquarius realizes he fucked up—escorting her to the _mess hall_ of all places. Sensing his discomfort, Asura creates something of a show out of consuming alcohol: tipping her head back, practically seizing and swallowing a whole mouthful of the drink. Daquarius can feel the judgment of his Kinshra linger upon him, much like the mocking arrow that strikes his back. 

He grips the bottle more tightly as he seethes, and there is an unspoken challenge in her eyes. The dragon bitter quickly finds its way to his mouth.

* * *

  
Their gathering devolves into a drinking game over time, and the Kinshra crowd around their table, betting on whether their high commander or the World Guardian would win. A lieutenant provided short glasses to standardize the amount of alcohol each party would drink, thereby standardizing this haphazard game into something fair. The majority of Kinshra are cheering Daquarius on as he haggardly pours another glass for himself, bursting into rallying hurrahs as he slams another one down. Daquarius closes his eyes and inhales through his nose, allowing the bitter taste to travel to his stomach.

Through a hazy gaze, Daquarius watches Asura, who sluggishly brings the rim of the bottle to the empty glass, struggle with keeping upright. The World Guardian, seemingly recognizing her limits, sets down the dragon bitter and flips the glass upside-down with a dramatic air of defeat and a sense of suspense. The ensuing cheers for the Lord of the Kinshra’s victory are deafening to both parties, and the knights pass coins amongst each other.

“Well done,” she slurs with a sharp smile.

Daquarius hunches forward onto the table, heavy and drunk, holding a fist in the air to command the room to fall into silence. “Get—Get the World Guardian a cot,” he commands the nearest ensemble of guards, shifting to stand onto his wobbly feet. “Anyone to dis—disrupt her rest will be put to the sword.”

“Thanks, but no,” the World Guardian groans, her face flushed. “I’m going home. Keep the alcohol and consider all your debts repaid, my Lord.” The archmage rummages through a small pouch on her hip, gathering a few runestones into her hands and uttering a short incantation to teleport away from their underground base. Some of the men around Daquarius recoil from the sudden flare of magic 

After the World Guardian takes her leave, Daquarius promptly retires to his chambers for a nap, but not without instructing everyone to continue as they were. As he leaves to his chambers, Daquarius finds that the alcohol has expanded his tolerance for allowing people to touch him. He finds that he does not mind receiving a few amicable claps against his shoulders from the soldiers around him before departing from the mess hall.

* * *

She always seems to find one reason or another to share alcohol with him. Daquarius and the World Guardian more often share drinks nowadays, and, with the passage of time, they no longer imbibe in the mess hall. Perhaps against the good judgment that the Kinshra Lord had initially, Daquarius invites Asura to his private study for drink whenever she fancies to visit. He was also not particularly keen on getting drunk in front of the Kinshra again and again.

A familiar sight, Asura sits not-quite across this smaller table meant for a party of two. She is outwardly holding her wine glass to him.

“I have questions for you,” he says, pouring wine into her crystal glass. The red liquid fills her glass, and the color’s vibrance reminds Daquarius of the dragon bitter they first shared.

“Anything, my Lord,” Asura says, but her tone implies that he may not receive any satisfying answers.

“Why not cut ties with the Temple Knights of Falador?” He scowls in a sudden burst of anger that he feels, although his anger is not meant for her. Perhaps he would be angry with her if they never started drinking together, but he truly knows that he is angry at his own topic of conversation.

Asura examines him closely, bringing the wine glass to her lips. She sips.

Daquarius says nothing, waits for an answer. He pours his own glass of wine, half-listening to the dull crackling of the fireplace beside them.

She furrows her brows. “It hardly matters nowadays, don’t you think?”

“Of course it matters.” _It matters to me_ , he thinks.

“I see. I suppose I can think of a reason or two. I was not always the ‘ _World Guardian_ ,’ you know. As a Zamorakian, I was in hiding while operating in Asgarnia, so becoming a Temple Knight offered a means of hiding in plain sight. More importantly to me, the Temple Knights afforded my research and my travels. I had performed their tasks, so I had gained the benefit of understanding how their organization operates without them realizing what was going on.  
  


“Know this, my Lord: I can guarantee to you that I was never in that organization to hail praises for Saradomin. Eventually, after word traveled that I fervently worshipped Lord Zamorak, I had become too powerful for Sir Tiffy to rid the Temple Knights of me. It is amazing how principles dwindle when such a powerful and effective resource is available toward your benefit. However, that bridge has been burnt a while ago, if I am to be honest.

“I’m not certain what answer you're seeking from me, Daquarius. Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep glaring at me. Anyway, things are different nowadays with the return of the gods. A question like that is hardly fair. My loyalty to Lord Zamorak is beautiful and transcendent—beyond morality or bonds to any organization. But, I’ll have you know that I have made myself quite scarce from Falador ever since Saradomin and his icyene watchdog settled in the White Knights’ Castle.”

Asura pauses to drink, waiting for Daquarius to interject.

Daquaris practically inhales his cup of wine before pouring himself another glass. “If that is the case,” he begins, “then who do you believe holds the rightful claim over Falador, over Asgarnia?”

Her lips quirk into a smile. “Oh, is that what that question is about? Here I am, bearing my past to you, but that doesn’t seem to actually matter to you.”

“It’s an important question,” he snaps.

“My Lord, there is no doubt in my mind that the Kinshra deserves its claim over Asgarnia. It is to my understanding that the Kinshra built that kingdom from scratch, correct? You must forgive my ignorance; Saradominist propaganda seems to permeate from the land itself, and I am not actually an Asgarnian citizen.”

Her answer does somewhat soothe his nerves. He finds himself asking her another question, uncertain whether it is out of genuine interest or a need to recover his composure, “Where do you come from?”

“Misthalin. Another land of Saradominist propaganda, but little pockets of worshippers of chaos are everywhere if you know where to look.”

“I assume you know where they all are. That would be useful to me.”

“Indeed, my Lord, it would.”  
  


A welcoming silence falls over the World Guardian and the Lord of the Kinshra. Despite his tendency towards anger, Daquarius began enjoying her presence as a drinking companion awhile ago, beyond the tentative and mutual exchange of information. She is not prone to be a boisterous drunk, nor does she ignore her own limitations regarding alcohol consumption. The World Guardian is specifically careful not to dampen the senses of her own mind, which is something Daquarius can appreciate because he dislikes dampening his own senses, too. He hesitates to place it, but this situation they have is quite nearly _comfortable_.

  
“Did you know,” she starts, disrupting the silence and gaining the immediate attention of the Kinshra commander, “that I let you win that little drinking game, the one with the dragon bitter?”

“No.” His brows furrow. “You didn’t let me win—you were _drunk_. You tipped over your glass in defeat because you couldn’t handle any more of that terrible, terrible alcohol.”

Behind the glass, her lips curl into another one of those damned smiles.

Daquarius leans forward, returning a smile of his own although it is snide and overly sarcastic. He is specifically attempting to mock the way she looks at him, but he is uncertain whether or not she recognizes his intention. “Alright, fine. _Why_ did you let me win?”

Asura laughs at his disposition. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your men—”

Daquarius interrupts her with an amused scoff.

“ _I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your men_ ,” she repeats quickly, “and I was _trying_ to be helpful to you. Honestly, you should praise the good work that I do.”

“How was getting drunk in front of my own officers meant to be helpful?"

“It humanizes you, my Lord. You may fancy yourself a champion amongst your fellows, an elected official, but you are still a _Lord_. You may care deeply for the lives of your own, but you still struggle with that little... insurrection problem. The propaganda stating that the Kinshra are meant to be evil is rooted within the organization _because_ it is the belief of the people you recruit. Getting loose every now and then shows the common people that you can be sympathetic.”

“I suppose I can see the wisdom in your council,” he concedes, “however stupidly dangerous the words you spew are for my health. Can you honestly believe that no one would take advantage of my drunken stupor?” Daquarius cannot place his full trust in all of the knights and guardsmen around him, but he vaguely remembers the cheers of victory and the amicable pats against his shoulders.

She shrugs. “The Kinshra houses all kinds. It’s too soon to tell if anything of substantial progress will come of it.”

Daquarius rolls his eyes. “Your little experiment could be my ruin.”

“Oh, please. It could be to your benefit, so spare me the dramatics. You knew what you were getting into when you indulged me. I’d say that being easily provoked is far more dangerous than my lighthearted plot.” Asura nods sagely to herself without any further input from Daquarius, before gasping. “Ah, my Lord! We had forgotten to toast! It’s practically our tradition now, how could we forget?"

The World Guardian extends her crystal wine glass to Daquarius, an expectant look upon her face.

“Ah.” His eyes linger upon her glass for a short while before he sighs, “Yes, I had forgotten. My mistake.” He clinks their glasses of wine together.

“Strength through Chaos,” they say in unison.


End file.
